


Beat It

by Xyriath



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Automail, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, dubcon fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy doesn't know.  He can <i>never</i> know what he does to Ed, that he leaves Ed gasping and desperate.</p><p>That doesn't stop Ed from doing something about it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Admiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiral/gifts).



> Commission for Grandadmiral, who wanted Ed jerking off and thinking about Roy. Enjoy!

Ed exhaled shakily at the fingers tracing up the inside of his thigh, closing his eyes and biting his lip as his cock, already hard from being naked, completely exposed, on the living room couch, twitched.

Would Mustang do this?  Would he brush those large, skilled fingers across Ed’s skin?  Ed could imagine it, far too easily: a smug, satisfied sigh, a deep chuckle, a hand cupping one side of his ass, thumb swiping down into—

Ed made a small noise as he moved his fingers along with his thoughts, biting his bottom lip as he pretended that it was another pair of hands on him.  He didn’t touch his cock: Mustang wouldn’t do that, not this soon.  Not that Ed had any firsthand knowledge, but Mustang always seemed to love watching Ed fucking _squirm._

But Roy would trace around it, under it, press against that—

Ed froze, swallowing.  He had never had anything inside of himself before, despite having touched himself plenty of times.  But hey, that’s what this was all for.

He swallowed, the predatory gleam in Mustang’s eyes clear in his mind’s vision as he pressed gently with his automail hand, biting his lip again at the slight pain from the friction.  But he had been expecting this.

Ed reached over to grab the bottle on the coffee table, tipping it over and dumping a generous amount of its contents onto the automail.

He thought of Mustang, the way that the movement would undoubtedly be much more certain and less sloppy.  Less frantic, definitely, with that smug, breathlessly handsome face hovering over Ed, slicking his fingers up purposefully…

Ed knew that Mustang still wouldn’t move this quickly, knew that he would make Ed suffer (and that Ed would fucking beg for it, in the end), but Ed had no patience, no impulse control, not when it came to this.  With a groan, he reached up and grabbed the base of his cock.

“ _Fullmetal._ ”  The breathy, imagined word in his ear sent a frisson of wild _want_ through his bones.

Ed’s hand slid up his cock slowly, unable to resist what he knew would be another tease; he couldn’t keep from touching himself, but he did it slowly, at least.  Keep a little bit of authenticity in there.

He’d thought about how this might play out, how Mustang would decide to take him—

 _“And after the way you have_ continuously _disobeyed my orders, you have shown that you completely lack discipline.  I intend to remedy this.”  A hand reached out to grab the front of Ed’s shirt, yanking him forward, and then he was shoved against—bent_ over _—the desk.  Before Ed could protest, his pants were yanked down, ass bared, and he flushed, mortified._

 _“You like this,” Mustang breathed, fondling an ass cheek, pressing Ed’s hips forward so his hard cock pressed up against the desk.  “I can see it.  Is this what you’ve been needing?  Just a firm, guiding hand?”  The hand in question squeezed.  “I’d be more than willing to help you learn how to be a_ proper _dog of the military._

Ed choked slightly at the tone in the imaginary voice.  The automail finger slid into Ed’s entrance, leaving him gasping.  It was cold—colder than Mustang’s fingers would be, but the tension, the pressure, the _fullness_ , left him panting.

He worked one in tentatively, wishing he could do it with more confidence, but this was _strange._   He gasped when he pushed deeper, moving it around—somewhere around here, there should be—

Oh.  _Oh._   That felt _nice._   Ed gasped at the sensation, writhing around it as he pressed experimentally against his prostate.  He never could have imagined something like this, and though the pleasure sent shivers up his entire body, he knew, he _knew_ , that if Roy’s fingers were in Ed’s place, they would be using him skillfully, leaving Ed unable to think.  To _breathe._

Ed was having a hard enough time doing that already.

He whined as he pulled out his fingers, then thrust again, more forcefully than he perhaps should have, though the pain from the roughness left him with a thrill of longing that he _hadn’t_ expected.

Now, what if he added a second finger?

 _Pain_ , he quickly learned, a wonderful aching stretch that left him gasping and trying to spread his fingers, just a little.  Not too much, of course, but—fuck.  Ed let out a soft keening noise before stopping, resuming his gentle thrusting, knowing that Mustang would never go so easy on him.

 _The smooth wood of Mustang’s desk pressed into Ed’s stomach, leaving him choked and breathless.  His feet didn’t quite reach the ground—_ fuck _—and Mustang’s hand pinned him down, fingers nearly spread from end to end of Ed’s back._

_His breath hitched, becoming even more ragged as something blunt and thick pressed between his asscheeks.  That was not a finger._

_“You’ll take it so well, Fullmetal,” comes the predatory growl, and then a vicious thrust._

Ed keened as he shoved his fingers deeper, barely realizing that he had gone beyond the prior roughness, was fucking himself open with eagerness.

He gave his neglected cock a rough stroke with his flesh hand and a groan.  God, it wasn’t fucking _fair_ how this bastard could take him to pieces without even trying—without even _knowing._   Six years of wild fantasies, and Roy Mustang still left Ed’s knees weak and his mind skittering off to filthy places the same way he had when Ed was twelve—except worse, because Ed had learned a lot more, had gained so much more fantasizing material in that time.

He choked in a ragged breath and pumped his fist, thrust his fingers, harder.

_“You’ve always looked good in that uniform.”_

_The deep voice resounded off of the lockers in the private changing area—but not private enough.  Ed opened his mouth, ready to snap at Mustang to get lost, when a pair of large hands grabbed his hips, spun him around, and slammed him, facefirst, against the lockers._

_“You’ll look even better out of it,” the hot voice breathed in Ed’s ear, the long, lean form pressed up against his back, erection grinding into Ed’s ass as efficient fingers divested Ed of his clothes, leaving him naked, defenseless, and completely at Mustang’s mercy._

_He didn’t even bother fingering Ed open this time, just slicked himself up, drenched Ed’s hole with lubricant, and drove himself inside._

Fuck.  _Fuck._   Ed was moaning nonstop now, whining softly with every thrust, every stroke.  It had never been like this before, touching himself, not even when he _had_ thought about Mustang.  He felt a desperation, sharper and bitterer than ever, rising in the back of his throat with a taste that was almost metallic.  He wanted—he _needed_ this, the real thing, not just the pathetic imitation Ed was indulging himself with.  And he _hated_ needing it.

He slowed his movements; if he kept going, at this rate, it would end far too soon.  A reluctant whine escaped his throat at the decrease in pressure, but he couldn’t end it now.  Besides, Mustang would never be so generous.

 _Ed’s face flushed as dark red as his cock as Mustang’s eyes raked down his naked form, shamelessly devouring the sight.  Ed couldn’t believe that he hadn’t_ died _from shame already, knees and thighs spread this wide, exposing himself for Mustang’s viewing pleasure—in his_ car _, no less.  Mustang had hitched Ed’s ankles around his own waist, and had been thrusting lazily in and out of Ed periodically for—too fucking long.  He had instead focused on tracing fingers down Ed’s chest, the insides of his thighs, across his jaw, smirking as he took Ed ruthlessly on a whim, then pulled back, leaving him empty and frustrated again._

 _“Oh, Fullmetal, you didn’t think I’d let it be_ this _easy, did you?”  Mustang’s deep voice rumbled around—through—Ed.  “Certainly not as easy as you’ve been, coming to me, spreading your legs like this…”  Roy trailed off at the agonized noise that escaped from Ed’s throat, then chuckled.  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”_

_Ed couldn’t breathe—couldn’t see straight, he just—he needed this, needed to be fucked silly and thoroughly and to take every bit of what Mustang threw at him, not just without complaint, but with complete and utter eagerness._

_“Are you going to beg me, Fullmetal?”_

_Ed froze, panic in his chest, heartbeat fluttering wildly.  Beg?_ Beg? _No fucking way—_

 _Mustang’s_ (Ed’s) _hand stroked gently over Ed’s cock, barely touching it, teasing at the head.  “You’re so desperate for this.  Surely you knew what would be expected of you.”_

 _Ed shook, shook with anger, shook with anticipation, shook with_ need. _“Fuck—fuck you—“_

_“The opposite, actually,” Mustang drawled, slowly rolling his hips, fucking into Ed again—but just once.  “Now get to it.  I don’t have all day.”_

“Please—“  The word choked out of Ed’s throat with a particularly rough thrust, eyes rolling back in his head.  He could feel it approaching now, the culmination of pleasure as it rushed towards him, Mustang’s face the only thing he could see.

“Oh, fuck, please—Roy— _Roy!_ ” Ed wailed, coming with a final gasp and arch of his hips, fingers thrusting furiously as he stroked, but they weren’t his, not really.  He could _hear_ the groan in his head, the gasp, the dark, dark chuckle—the bastard, and as the orgasm took him in a shock of waves of vision whiting out, come spattering onto his chest, for a moment, he _believed_ that it was Mustang—Roy—there, coaxing him firmly down from his pleasure.

And then it was gone, leaving only a ringing in Ed’s ears.  Ed’s hand slid out of his ass, flopping to the side, dangling off the couch.  He closed his eyes and panted, legs collapsing into a tangled heap.

Ed groaned softly, settling in…

And sat bolt upright at a knock on the door.

Shit.  _Shit._   Had—how loud had he been?  Had whoever it was heard him?  He had to answer the door—or he could pretend not to be home—

The knock pounded again, and Ed yelped out “Just a minute!”—a stalling technique that, he realized with a grimace, had just sabotaged his best option.  Fuck.

Stumbling off the couch—and his legs nearly giving way for his trouble—he staggered over to the pile of clothes, yanking them all on with a quick dash to the bathroom to wipe his stomach and hands clean.

After a quick scrub, during which the knocking got louder and more insistent, he darted to the door, yanking it open with a scowl.

And froze.

“Fullmetal,” came the perfectly cultivated, precise drawl that Ed knew so _very_ intimately.

Ed’s lungs had frozen; he struggled to breathe, only to let out an unattractive gargling sound.

Had Mustang heard?  The loud, passionate cry of “ _Roy!_ ” as Ed had debauched himself, pretending it had been under the hands of the very man in front of him?

Well, Ed didn’t see how he could have fucking _missed_ it.

“The fuck d’you want?”

“It had been to talk,” Mustang replied, movement as smooth as his voice as he stepped neatly past Ed, into the small apartment.  “However, now?  Now, I think I have different ideas.”

He reached out, arm brushing past Ed’s head close enough to prickle a few strands of hair on his scalp, and pushed the door closed.  Ed’s eyes riveted on the movement, it drawing them back involuntarily to Mustang.

Mustang lifted his hands to begin pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time.  A smirk played on his lips as he watched Ed intently.  For his part, Ed forgot how to breathe.

They stayed like that for—Ed didn’t know how long, Mustang’s eyes freezing him in the spot like some sort of prey animal, Ed’s lungs unable to properly function as he stared back, wide-eyed.

And then Mustang broke the silence.

“Take off your clothes.”


End file.
